by Plum Pascal
###
Morrigan
I cannot speak with Variant or Theren while the sprite and his brownie companion watch me at all hours. The days continue to drag as I try to overhear what progress the others have made. I want the book of prophecies that Dragan and Eilish have, but the brutish gargoyle rarely parts with the blasted thing. And now I have Aima and the satyr to deal with, as well. As my former student, Aima seems more suspicious than the others. She may need to be taken care of, and quickly. I don’t care if Theren has a soft spot for her. Anyone who gets in my way becomes a casualty.
I watch as Eilish trains in the clearing with the others. She’s getting stronger. Whether she becomes a threat or an ally still remains to be seen. I must continue to make them think of me as a neutral party, not taking sides with the light nor the dark, while ensuring their beliefs that I wish to restore the balance. This lie is necessary to make them trust that we have a common mission.
But I am the only one who truly understands that the balance is harmful to the natural order. Only the strongest should be permitted to survive. Peace welcomes weakness, and weakness breeds opportunity for annihilation. But chaos... chaos nurtures instinct. And I have seen instinct inspire the sort of strength necessary to claim power so that survival is a possibility. Silvanus, however, sees things differently.
As the last of the gods, he no doubt wishes to take the throne for himself.
Whatever his endgame may be, it stands in the way of my future glory and I cannot allow his plans to come to fruition.
A knock sounds on the door, and I call for whoever it is to enter. It is Aima. She rests against the wall, chest heaving from her spar in the clearing. “Supper will be served soon.”
“Thank you for telling me,” I answer, wondering at the true reason she has appeared here.
She studies me with narrowed eyes. “I’m wondering when the real you is going to show itself.”
I bite my cheek and turn to face her, putting my back to the window. “Pardon?”
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I know you talk to Theren. He spoke of you constantly, said you were counseling him. And then he disappears, and the Unseelie Court is making decisions without their king.” Aima steps further into the room and slides her gaze from my head to my feet. “All of us have fought and bled for our cause, for dethroning those who are abusing their power so that we may restore the balance and begin rebuilding the Realms. I don’t want to think of you as a traitor, Morrigan, but sooner or later the inconsistencies in your lies will come back to haunt you.”
“What do you know?” I hiss. “You don't understand what it truly means to bleed for a cause. I’ve been around since the ancient times of mankind and I’ve survived every war. Crusades and holy battles, conquerors and false prophets... I’ve lived it all. Swords and shields are nothing compared to the weapons the humans had at their disposal, and yet they fell like all the rest. Every dawn of life has its setting sun, Aima—that is why mortality is so beautiful. I taught you that long ago. I had hoped you would have remembered.”
“So, is that what you believe this is?” she demands. “Our reckoning, our cleansing fire that will burn this world asunder?” Aima’s eyes plead for answers I will not speak of. Not to her. “You are weak, Morrigan. More so than any loss of power could ever cause. You are weak because you’ve given up. There’s more to life than just surviving. If not for you, Abedon, and the rest of the gods vying for power, the worlds would have continued as they were. The fae and the mortal realms would have existed with barely any knowledge of one another.”
“You know nothing, Aima!” I yell at her. “You speculate and listen to rumor rather than open your eyes.” I move over to the bed to pull my robes on. “Time will tell. And when it does, only those who are strong enough to understand the truth will bear witness to the new dawn.”
“Help me see it, then. If I’m blind to what’s happening, then show me the way.”
“No.”
“Why, if you have nothing to hide?”
“Because you are unworthy,” I snap. “All of you are. Continue this fight and I will be by your side, but knowing what is to come will not change the path ahead. Not even mine.” The lies may indeed be my undoing, but they are necessary. I cannot afford for one of them to go off on a mission to find Abedon and ruin everything I’ve worked so hard to set into place.
Aima takes a deep breath and retreats from the room, but not before casting a look over her shoulder. “I know you loved Abedon, but don’t let whatever happened destroy what good may still linger in your heart. Unless you wish to die alone, forever watching the world around you as an outsider.” She leaves me, and I hear the telltale sound of fluttering wings as the sprite follows. For a moment, I smell the scent of freshly baked cookies on the air.
For the first time, I am invited to dine with the rest of them. I pretend that my health has improved enough that I can make it down the stairs. Supper is quick and without much etiquette as the lumbering fools around me shovel food down their gullets. I pick at the contents of my plate, eating just enough to satisfy my hunger and their curiosity. No one asks me questions on this night, and for that I am grateful. Once they all toddle off to bed, I pretend to sleep until the little creatures that watch me doze off.
Then I project myself to Variant, who stands in his trophy room, surrounded by garish displays of severed angel wings.
“What news have you?” I ask. I take in the sight of his bare torso and intense features. Variant strolls toward me, bearing the cocky smile of a king like a second skin, and I feel myself growing hot.
“A ritual of tantric magic, one that requires two sacrifices.”
“What of it?” My gaze flickers across that mouthwatering expansion of muscle on his chest. “We’ve heard of rituals more often than not, and they have led us astray more times than I wish to admit. How is this different?”
“Because the tantric magic requires the sacrifice to be a necromancer,” Variant whispers seductively. “He, along with someone with magic in their blood but no true arcane powers, must complete the ritual of their own free will. Once it is done, they will rupture, and upon the altar will be a crystal capable of tearing open The Veil.”
I am impressed. I must admit.
“Where is this altar?”
“Cogost Mountain,” he replies. “Deep in the belly of the mountain rests a temple that was once used to honor the necromancers and their practice.”
“Can the crystal and talisman be fused together by magic?” I ask.
“I will need to speak to the artificer, but it is possible in theory.”
“Ask her immediately. And, in the meantime, I will focus on getting out of here. There is too much to be done for me to sit around and wait any longer. Keep reading about the ritual and tell me everything. I’ll be in touch soon, Variant.”
My soul floats back into my body. And this time, the snoring little sprite in the window does not see me.
EIGHTEEN
Cambion
The Veil
I have worked hard to find a way into Pyre’s private quarters. There’s no bed, and no furniture aside from a writing desk and two chairs. Piles on piles of books, boxes, and papers fill the space. Does Pyre sleep? No, I suspect he doesn’t. I creep deeper into the dwelling of the necromancer until I find a door. I don’t find it using the sense of sight, because the door is concealed by magic, but I sense it and the spells that hide it from me.
Brushing my hand along the wall, I feel the tingling sensation of wards. They’re powerful, but not malicious. Pyre’s trust in us is touching, but foolish. There isn’t one person within this cottage who wouldn’t betray the rest of us if it meant completing our task. The fate of the Realms is just too important to allow friendship and trust to get in the way. This thought saddens me, but it is what it is. Continuing forward, I summon my power to open the door without tripping any alarms Pyre may have in place.
He’s hiding something here. Some
thing that can help me. I’m certain.
Pyre’s use of artifacts is no secret. And I’m determined to uncover the place where he keeps them. Thus far, I’ve searched the cottage high and low without finding anything of use. This is the last place I can think of to find the necessary components that would allow me to contact Theren.
And why should I want to do that? Because I’m his brother and I’m convinced he’ll tell me who is really controlling things. No, that information won’t come easily and yes, I’ll have to suffer through who knows what… but I still believe it’s possible to mend whatever ugliness exists between the two of us. I just need to reach him so we can talk... so I can hear from him why he betrayed me.
Us, I remind myself. I wasn’t the only one hurt by Theren.
The room is dark, but the floor illuminates with a green glow as I step on the floorboards. Torches flicker to life and I see a seemingly endless space crammed with what appear to be innocuous artifacts. A charm increases the size of the cavernous chamber, defying both logic and the physical structure of the cottage. An echo carries as I walk deeper into the cluttered room, filled with junk and treasures alike. Surrounding me is a potent magical energy, like feeling sound. My body feels loose and pliable.
I need to find a mirror. Theren’s magic will allow me to scry for his location once I make it to Oronrel through the portal. But each step I take causes me to slow my pace and drag my feet. The power here is vast, like everything else in The Veil. It’s overwhelming, but I can sense I’m near my goal. Mirrors, unlike other enchanted objects, are very cold in nature. And, if used properly, they’re one of the most powerful objects in all the Realms—which was why the catoptromancers had been killed long ago.
Even before Variant killed the male angels and took the wings from the females, Theren sentenced every catoptromancer to execution. But to do the same to Aima? I know my brother is capable of great acts of cruelty, but even he has his limits.
The mirror I sense hangs on the wall at the very back of this enormous room. It’s small, barely the size of my palm, but it’s strong with ethereal magic that feels... ancient. The magic signatures within the mirror are similar to Morrigan’s. Whoever owned the mirror before Pyre was a very skilled catoptromancer.
I climb the steep pile of magical rubbish until my fingers brush the mirror. Shocks travel through my entire body and the mirror falls into my hand. Its weight is much greater than its size, and I struggle to carry it to the ground. But, after a few more seconds, the enormous weight of the mirror lifts until it feels as light as a feather. I make my way back to the door. Sweat beads on my brow as I step across the threshold. With a hiss, the door closes behind me, and I feel the unsettling weight slowly lift from my soul.
Unsteady legs carry me to the desk in Pyre’s bedchamber and I breathe deeply to fight the nausea that rushes through me. The mirror in my hand feels as though it grows colder by the second, like feeling a thick sheet of ice with my bare hands. Its frame is bronze, decorated with intricate, ornate patterns that remind me of paintings I once saw in the mortal realm. I stare into the mirror’s reflection and sense an eerie shift within myself, as if the mirror reaches for something inside me. Many catoptromancers have found themselves ensnared by their own reflections.
For the first time since I was a young child, I feel grateful that I wasn’t given the gifts that plagued my brother through the years of our youth. My brother…
This mirror means I’m one step closer to finding Theren and getting the answers I’ve yearned for since we lost the war. I stand up from the desk and tuck the artifact into my tunic before I exit Pyre’s private quarters. When I turn away from the door, Dragan steps from the shadows, an impassive expression on his face. My heart thunders wildly in my chest and I do my best not to gasp my surprise.
“If you’re looking for Pyre, he’s been outside since sunrise,” the gargoyle rumbles. “But I think you knew that. Didn’t you, Cambion?”
“I did.”
“Then why are you sneaking around his private chamber?”
“I wasn’t aware that I was,” I say lamely. “But if I’m to be questioned for going into Pyre’s quarters, shouldn’t you also be questioned for borrowing Revenant’s key to the library to read books on your kind when the others are asleep?”
Dragan walks up to me and points to the two chairs facing the fire. “Let’s talk, Cambion. It’s been long overdue.”
He takes a seat and looks at me expectantly.
Fuck.
###
Dragan
The arrogant elf only sits when he feels ready, and that pisses me off. I lean back in the chair, ready to hear Cambion’s excuse for sneaking into Pyre’s room. While Cambion has always been secretive... this feels different. I can feel the guilt and shame coming off him in waves of regret and mortification. He stares at me as if he’s waiting for me to hurl accusations at him. Why he feels the need to isolate and victimize himself further is beyond my comprehension.
“For your information, I had Pyre’s permission to go into the library at night. So have Kolvar, Aima, and Eilish. Not just Revenant, though he’s the only one of us with the key,” I explain. “But you weren’t permitted to enter his quarters which begs the question of why you’re here.”
“Since when do we ask for permission for anything?” I demand. “We’re kings.”
“We’re only alive because Pyre made it that way.” I stand up to tower over my companion—not to intimidate him, but he needs to see he’s not the biggest asshole in the room. “You’re hiding something, and I’m going to find out what it is.”
“You always jump to the worst conclusions,” he responds. His response isn’t a denial and that’s Cambion’s tell. When he’s lying and you call him on it, he’ll never deny the accusation. He’ll simply reroute the conversation.
“If what you’re doing puts our plans or our lives in danger, I’ll have you exiled,” I say.
“Exiled?” he repeats with a smile. “Where to, exactly?”
“One of the territories here in The Veil, a place where you’ll be too busy fighting for your life to get in our way.”
“That would be extreme, even for you.”
I grit my teeth. “We’re close to getting this right. We’re close to figuring out what we’re up against and then figuring out how to eliminate whatever threat that is.”
“How close?” he demands, eyeing me narrowly.
I shrug. “Eilish and I are sorting through the prophecies, and the others are working with us to figure out what Morrigan, Theren, and Variant have planned. And when we’re not scouring through dusty shelves and old scrolls, we’re training in the clearing so we’re ready for the next attack.”
“Attack?” he echoes, brow pinched tight. “What attack?”
“See? You’re so consumed with your own bullshit that you haven’t heard a word we’ve been saying. The attack on the Threst, the place where Variant’s soldiers have been taking the fae, your people. Revenant knows how to infiltrate their ranks.”
“How?”
“The same way he did when we were in Variant’s castle. He can get us close enough for Noni to lead us to the location—”
“And then what?” Cambion shouts as he shakes his head and looks pissed off. “Risk the lives of whatever creatures may be trapped inside? Don’t push Variant into doing something drastic.”
“Whatever they’re suffering now may be worse than death! They’re your people, you fuck.”
“I’m aware.”
“You were once the King of The Seelie Court. Some of them still view you as their true king. And I’m sure they’d be happy to die knowing you didn’t give up.”
“This is big talk coming from you. You’ve ignored your duties to the Realms since you killed Lamia and her daughters while I gave the fae sanctuary.” Cambion stands to leave, but I grab his arm to keep him from escaping. We aren’t done with this conversation.
“Stop hiding, Cambion.”
; He shrugs off my hold and I know I won’t get anything more out of him. At least I know he’s entirely unaware of what’s been happening for the past month. But I can’t shake the feeling that Cambion is up to something that will shatter whatever semblance of peace we’ve built here. And that worries me. A lot.
I make my way back to the clearing, where Eilish pants on the ground. She looks like the wind has been knocked out of her... and she doesn’t seem happy about it.
The angel kicks up off the ground and shoves Revenant. “You cheated!”
“Your enemies aren’t going to wait until you’re ready before they attack,” he yells at her. “I’m training you to survive, not to look cool with a dagger in your hand.” He shoves her back. She stumbles, glare deepening as she lunges for him. I catch her around the waist and place myself between them. Her body stiffens before going slack against my chest. The scent of her arousal is like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless for a second.
I set her on her feet and hand her a sword. “Let me teach you now.”
She looks at Revenant before facing me and nods her head eagerly.
He snorts and wanders off into the forest, shaking his head in obvious irritation. Good, let the fucker be irritated! I don’t give a shit. I reach for my sword, intent on teaching Eilish how to wield hers, when Pyre appears and stops me.
“Have you never summoned a shadow blade?” he asks. My silence is answer enough. He lifts my arm so it’s pointing straight ahead and pries my fingers open with my palm flat, facing up.
“Concentrate on summoning your shadows, but will them to take shape,” he instructs. “Wield the shadows like a sword. You know the balance of the weight of the sword between the tip and the hilt... now, create.”
Eilish gives me a look and I close my eyes to humor Pyre. My skeptical mind struggles to grasp the concept at first, but eventually I’m able to envision a sword in my hand and then I actually can feel the weight of it, as if it’s a physical thing. I open my eyes and watch the shadows swirl in my palm, forging a spirit blade of pure darkness.